Murphy's Law
by phantasmagorical
Summary: Dr. Allison Cameron is about to have one hellish day. And that pesky little societal adage she knows all too well is about to shake up her life in ways she never imagined. Read and review if you'd like to. FINALLY updated.
1. Everything that can go wrong

A/N: We've met Chase's dad and Foreman's parents, why not Cameron's as well?

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Murphy's Law

by phantasmagorical

It was Monday morning and Dr. Allison Cameron was running extremely late for work. It seemed to be one of those mornings where everything that can go wrong, will go wrong – and at the most inopportune moment.

Her alarm clock chose to stop working altogether, the landlord had conveniently forgotten to tell mention that her water was being shut off for the day, she had a large bruise on her knee (thanks to her kitten Darcy, who left her beloved piece of string next to Allison's bed to be tripped over), and all of her work clothes were waiting to be washed. And if that wasn't enough, her parents were flying in for the week, and she wanted everything to be absolutely perfect. She spent all weekend redecorating her apartment, making sure it was unnaturally neat and the epitome of class. Naturally, this meant she didn't get any sleep over the weekend. As she rushed around to get ready, she grunted and groaned, muttered obscenities, and cursed Murphy (or whomever) and his silly law.

She was finally ready to go by 9:30. She grabbed her car keys and ran out of her apartment building. As she hurriedly made her way to her car, she saw flashing cop lights, several film cameras, a plethora of news reporters and yellow tape blocking off the entire garage. "You've got to be kidding me," she said. "This…this…cannot be happening." She walked over to a police officer and calmly asked, "Is there any way I can get in there to grab my car? I'm late for work and there's no way I can get there without my-"

"Sorry, miss," the cop interrupted politely, "but we've got a major crime scene here. No one is allowed in." His tone was apologetic, and Allison nodded.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Looks like a murder. It happened early this morning. A young couple. Apparently they lived in that apartment building right there," he stated, gesturing to Allison's building.

Allison felt her stomach drop and the blood drain from her face. There was only one _young_ couple she knew of in that building – and they were the only people she actually liked. They had spent many a night allowing Allison to play the third wheel. They settled her down after a long night at work, and consoled her if she ever lost a patient. As far as she knew, they never fought. They were the couple she looked to if she ever found herself losing hope that happiness with another human being was possible.

"Miss," she heard the cop yell, snapping her out of her catatonic-like state. "Miss, are you okay?"

She gulped. "I…I…were the…victims…were their names Luke and Jaime Arrington," she stuttered. The cop nodded knowingly. "Oh, god," she cried. She felt tears flood her eyes, and she could do nothing to stop them from falling. She

The cop looked around helplessly, placing a hand on Allison's shoulder. "Look, miss, it's probably best if you left the crime scene. If reporters see you here in your…state, they're going to assume you were directly related to the victims. They'll barrage you with questions and you'll never be able to get away from them."

Allison looked up at the cop, her tears finally subsiding. She could see his face, now – it was kind and fresh. He was obviously young and new. She nodded and said, "You're right. I just – I need to find a way to get to work, now."

"You're still going to work? You should head back to your apartment and collect yourself. I'm sure your boss will understand."

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, no, not my boss. Anyway, I'm needed. We have a really important case, and if we don't figure out, this boy is bound to die," she said quickly and as if the cop knew exactly what she was talking about.

He tilted his head. "Are you a detective or something?"

She smiled. "No, a doctor."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Wow. Very impressive, considering your…." He cleared his throat. "Age – your age. I'd presume, of course."

"Thirty," she replied.

"Hm. Well, you've gotta go save some lives, now, don't you? How about I give you a ride? There are too many of us here, anyway."

"Are you sure? I mean, if anything else happens, I wouldn't want-"

He put his hand up. "It's perfectly fine, miss." He smiled brightly.

"Allison," she said. "My name is Allison Cameron." She held out her and.

"Officer Kevin Breen," was his reply as he gently shook Allison's hand. "It's a pleasure. Now let's get you outta here." He walked her over to his car, opened the passenger's door, proving that chivalry was _not_ dead. She smiled in thanks and slid right in, buckling her seat belt and mentally preparing herself for the hypocritical lecture House was sure to give her about the virtues of promptness. _It's going to be a long day.  
_

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A/N: Very short chapter (for me, anyway). I have a pretty good idea as to the direction this story will go on. Hell, I already have the last paragraph and/or line. There will definitely be a romantic pairing in the near future. I just have to make a decision about that. Let me know if you like the first chapter, and if you have any suggestions, let me know. 


	2. Will go wrong

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, suggestions, et cetera. They're all very much appreciated. I get so nervous when I see that has sent me an e-mail. It's like I've reverted back to my high school self. Shiver.

And to answer the million dollar question: _No_. That's all. ;)

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"Make a left here," Allison said, as she guided Kevin to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. _Though you'd think a cop would know where the nearest hospital was_, she thought. "And another left here." Kevin turned with ease into PPTH's parking lot. "You can just pull up to the front." He obliged. She sighed with both relief and anxiety – she was glad to finally be at work, but she knew House was going to give her the third degree. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face her driver. "Thank you so much for this." She smiled widely. 

He smiled back. "It's no problem at all. Just doing my job."

"Oh, so your job requires you to be chauffeur to damsels in distress," she laughed.

"No, just to help out citizens in need. And you were most certainly in need," he said simply, seemingly unable to pick up the facetiousness in Allison's statement.

She nodded. "Indeed I was. Again, I can't thank you enough. If there's anything I can do to repay you-"

He waved his hand. "No, no, no. I don't want anything in return." He gave her another bright smile, his sincerity evident in his fresh, cleanly shaven face.

The two sat in silence for a minute before Allison spoke. "Well, it was nice to meet you. Thank you again," she exclaimed, opening the car door and stepping out, breathing in the crisp, Eastern morning air she loved so much. She twirled around and waved to him.

"It was a pleasure meeting _you_, miss," he yelled. He tipped the brim of his hat and drove away.

Allison watched him go with a smile on her face, which faded the instant she turned to face the hospital doors. There was House, standing tall behind the receptionist's desk, wearing a peculiar and curious smile. She sighed and pulled open the doors, avoiding eye contact with her boss at all costs. Her attempt to walk speedily by him failed, as he stuck out his cane, almost sending her on a crash collision with the lobby floor. She shot her head up and rolled her eyes. "_House_," she seethed.

He looked at his watch dramatically and said, "Has my watch died, or is the always prompt Dr. Allison Cameron _late_?" When his response was an icy eye roll, he decided to press on a little bit further. "And in a cop car, huh? Was somebody busted for prostitution last night?" He smirked arrogantly.

Cameron, who was generally a calm person, felt the anger boil up inside her. She stared at House, looked down to his cane, then slowly lifted her hand and head simultaneously and slapped him right across his face. He looked up at her in shock, his blue eyes riddled with pain. She brought her voice to a harsh whisper. "You're lucky you're a cripple. Otherwise you'd have a _hard_ time getting it up when you do it with _actual_ prostitutes." She threw him a defiant glare and walked toward the elevators, her body shaking with anger.

House merely stood there in shock until he realized he was being stared at. "And the reason nobody is rushing to Dr. Cuddy is…?" His only response was a roomful of smirks. "Fine, I'll do it then, you incompetent morons." He marched to Cuddy's office and flung open the door. "I want Cameron fired."

Dr. Lisa Cuddy looked up from her computer and laughed. "On what grounds? Did she refuse to do something illegal for you? Like, I don't know, forge Wilson's signature for an extra Vicodin prescription?"

"No, actually, she slapped me." He pointed to his right cheek, the pale skin beginning to change into a lovely shade of red.

"Good. You had it coming." She focused her attention back to her computer.

"Wow, you're one hell of an administrator," he replied with incredulity.

"Oh, please. I can guarantee you that that slap wasn't unsolicited."

House shook his head. "This is insane! I get slapped _in public_ by one of my employees and you do nothing?"

Cuddy stood up and sighed in exasperation. She opened her desk and grabbed a packet of paperwork, handing it to House. "File a lengthy incident report, we'll have a long meeting with Cameron to get her side of the story, and then we'll go from there." She folded her arms and grinned, as she knew House would do anything to avoid paperwork and meetings.

House rolled his eyes. Once Cuddy actually got Cameron's side, he was royally screwed. "Never mind, then. It's not that big of a deal. Smell ya later!" He sniffed the stale air in Cuddy's office and scrunched his face up in disgust. "And I really mean that. Get some air freshener and take a damn shower, Cuddy!"

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Allison let out yet another sigh as she stepped onto the elevator. She couldn't believe how horribly the day had begun. "I wonder what else could go wrong," she asked herself. As she uttered those all-too fatal words, she felt the elevator stop in mid-ride. "Oh, no. No. Absolutely not. You are not shutting down on me here." She pressed every button she could, hoping to will the elevator to move. She got no response. "Damn it!" She threw her bag down in frustration, grabbing her cell phone as it fell out. Much to her surprise and overwhelming joy, she had full service. She dialed Chase's number. He picked up after the second ring. 

"Robert Chase," he announced.

"Hi, it's Allison."

"Hey – where are you? Are you okay," he asked all at once, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm actually stuck in the hospital elevator. Can you call maintenance or somebody for me?"

"Absolutely. I'll get right on it. Just hang in there, okay?" He could tell something was wrong from the uneasy tone in her voice.

"Thanks." She closed her phone and slumped down to the floor, already exhausted. Now she just had to find something to do to pass the time. She decided to do a little reading. She grabbed the book she had been devouring for a couple of days – _The Gun Seller_ – and dived right back in. A half hour later, the elevator doors opened. Allison quickly packed up her belongings and bolted out, though part of her almost wanted to stay. She felt as though she were back at home, cozy under her cashmere blanket and curled up near her fireplace. There was no better way to spend her time at home. With another sigh, she headed toward the stairs. She was already late; another five minutes wouldn't make much a difference.

"Dr. Cameron," a voice bellowed. She turned around and saw Cuddy heading in her direction. "I need to talk to you," Cuddy said. Her tone was both stern and sympathetic.

She stiffened. "Can it wait? I'm already very late for work and I just got stuck in the damned elevator."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry about that. But it'll only take a second. If we could just make our way to my office."

Allison shook her head. "I can't, I'm sorry. House is ready to kill me as it is. I'll come see you before I leave tonight." She turned on her heel and walked up the stairs to her office…or her own personal circle of hell, mentally and physically preparing herself for House. It was a good thing she had stilettos on today.

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A/N: Virtual cookies go to anyone who got the Hugh Laurie reference I threw in this chapter. 


	3. And at the most

A/N: Thanks again for all of the reviews! My motivation has sky-rocketed.

There's a lot going on in this chapter, mainly because I wanted to add a little more exposition. Trust me; things will get better for Cameron eventually. This is just the whole point of Murphy's Stupid Freaking Law…which I've experienced several times.

And the virtual cookies go to… LittleDragonfly23. Nice spotting!

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"Oh, dear god, please tell me I'm hallucinating," Allison exclaimed quietly as she walked closer to the glass doors that encased her usual workspace. As she inched closer, she saw her Chase and Foreman laughing, House bearing his usual self-satisfied smirk and…her parents. "What the hell are they doing here," she asked herself. With a loud sigh, she pulled open the glass doors and prepared for all kinds of questions.

Allison's parents immediately turned around and faced their daughter in surprise. "Apple," her father exclaimed happily. He was tall, with impeccable posture and a quiet air about him. His dark brown hair was softly fading to gray, and his cerulean eyes were wide and bright like his daughter's, but were surrounded by age. His appearance was neat, clean and simple – no stubble and clothing wrinkles could be seen. He wore a brown and gray argyle sweater and khaki slacks. Every move he made was done with grace, especially when he moved to hug his daughter. "We've missed you, my star," he whispered lovingly.

Cameron closed her eyes as her father embraced her, taking in the aroma of his musky cologne. It's all he ever wore. "Hi, Dad," she replied warmly, squeezing him as hard as she could. She broke the hug as soon as she heard her mother's toe tapping with impatience. "Hi, Mom," she said, the warmth in her voice dissipating.

"Hello, dear. We're quite sorry for imposing upon your little practice here, but your father and I just could not wait to see you. After all, we flew all this way just to see our little Button!" Her mother's voice was smooth and cool. It was the kind of voice you hear in the Hamptons – a hybrid accent of English and 1920s America; fake, forced and grating. The clothes she wore looked too rich for her haggard features, and her lips seemed to be permanently pursed into an odd upturn – not a smile, not a frown, but something in between. Her hair was dark blonde and unnaturally curled, her eyes were a dark gray-blue, and her stare was hard and penetrating.

"Yes, of course," Allison replied, hating the fact that her parents were here and probably telling all sorts of embarrassing stories. She had a lot of those. "But, um…unfortunately, we're very busy and I'm running very late today and-"

"Nonsense," House said. "We're as dead as our untreated patients." He looked at Cameron and smiled wildly. "Your parents were just telling us their thrilling tale of travel. Honestly, _Allison_, it's quite riveting. You should have a listen." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Allison's parents just smiled at him in obvious ignorance.

She clenched her hands at the sound of her first name. "Well, obviously, _Greg_, there must be something to be done around here." She stared at him coldly. He shook his head and shrugged. She looked toward Chase and Foreman in desperation, her eyes pleading with them to help her in any capacity.

Foreman cleared his throat, causing Allison's parents to look in his direction curiously. "Uh…actually, the three of us have some…lab work that we need to get done," Foreman covered. He elbowed Chase discreetly.

"Yes! Yes, that's right. The…lab work. Super, top-secret, for-our-eyes-only lab work. Yes." Chase rolled his eyes at his own pitiful lie.

Foreman stifled laughter. As House opened his mouth to object, Foreman quickly began to speak. "And Dr. House actually has some very important paperwork he needs to file, as per Dr. Cuddy – his boss," he added pointedly.

"Ah, how wonderful! Well, then, Stephen and I will leave you to your work," Allison's mother proclaimed loudly. "It was a pleasure to meet the three of you. Perhaps we could all get better acquainted a little later on," she said, throwing what she considered a seductive look House's way.

He tilted his head a bit and smiled. "Yes, let's! And then perhaps we could play a game of squash and enjoy some Cosmos on the lido deck." His sarcasm was lost on her.

"That sounds quite lovely, Dr. House. What wonderful taste!" She looked to her daughter. "Kisses, darling! Come on, Stephen, I'm parched." She lifted her head high and sauntered out of the room.

Stephen rolled his eyes and hugged his daughter again. "How about we do dinner tonight, Apple? Your choice."

She nodded, smiling at his age-old endearment. "That sounds good, Dad."

"Great! Nice to meet the three of you," he said, nodding to Allison's male co-workers. They nodded back and mumbled their goodbyes. He left hurriedly, trying to catch up to his fast-paced wife.

Allison threw her things on the conference table and put on her white coat that let the hospital know who she was and why she was there.

Chase and Foreman looked at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to say to their distressed co-worker. Much to their chagrin, House chimed in first.

"So, Dr. Cameron, you must really think you're a big shot, huh? You waltz in two hours late, slap your boss, allow your parents to trespass on private hospital quarters. Woo, what a day for you."

"Bite me, House."

"Well, that depends. What kind of apple are you? McIntosh, Granny Smith? Personally, I'm partial to Cox's Orange Pippin."

"Go to hell."

House held his heart in mock hurt. "Gosh, your comebacks are so hurtful, Dr. Cameron? However do you think them up?"

"Okay, you know what? I don't care if you're my boss. I don't care that you hate the world and all its inhabitants except for yourself. You don't have to be such an asshole to the people you work with. You have no idea the kind of day I'm having. And though I'm sure you wouldn't even know _how_ to care, you might at least shut the hell up." She exhaled loudly. She didn't regret her words, but she regretted blowing up in front of her colleagues. They didn't need to see her as upset as she was.

Chase's eyes widened. He wanted to interject before Allison did something to completely jeopardize her fellowship, but he didn't want to face her wrath or, even worse, House's wrath.

"Dr. Chase, Dr. Foreman, will you please go attend to that top-secret lab work," House demanded, staring at Allison. "I need to discuss some pressing matters with Dr. Cameron." His tone was cold, his features hardened. He was angry. The male doctors obliged. Foreman threw a sympathetic glance Allison's way.

Allison stood tall be the doors with her arms crossed and her eyes focused on House. "Yes," she asked coolly.

"You are my employee, Dr. Cameron. But it doesn't have to be that way. If you would like to leave, please resign. Don't try to get fired," he replied monotonously, as though he had uttered those words so often it had become habitual.

"I'm…not trying to get myself fired," she replied, surprised that House hadn't taken the opportunity to reprimand her. "I love my job, just not you. I don't even ike you too much anymore. You're a liar, a bastard and a jerk, and if it weren't for your genius…I wouldn't admire you at all. In fact, I'd probably pity you."

House nodded, wincing at the word he hated so much. "Well, if you love your job so much, you might want to consider getting a filter for that brain of yours. I'm still your boss, you still work for me, and if I'm forced to fire you because you can't control your emotions, actions and words, I can make damn sure that you'll never got hired in this industry again."

Allison felt her jaw drop ever so slightly. She was at a loss. She peered into House's eyes, hoping to find some glimmer of amusement. She saw nothing. She didn't know what to say except, "I'll do my best, Dr. House. Thank you."

She rushed out of the conference room and kept her head down. Hot tears threatened to mock and embarrass her as she made her way to the nearest supply closet. As she raced down the hallway, she was met with the crash collision she had avoided almost an hour ago.

She felt her body touch another, her legs give out, her arms flail in surprise and her head bounce back on the cold, hard floor. Her eyes closed and her breathing became slow and steady. She heard a distant, yet familiar, male voice call her hospital name. She wanted to say that she was conscious, that she would d get up when her temporarily blackened world stopped spinning, that this was something she should have expected and it was time for her to go home and forget that she part of this rotating planet. The voice called for her again, opting to use her real name instead. She felt soft, male fingers brush her hair away from her face, then travel down to the pulse in her neck, pressing lightly. She heard the voice sigh in relief and call for help. Again, she wanted to say it was unnecessary. She wanted to tell the voice just to leave her on the floor, let her be dizzy, let her head bleed for a bit. She would be fine. She felt the soft, male fingers gingerly pick her head up, touching her little wound, apologizing to her profusely. She knew that voice. It was the only voice she knew of that could apologize so well and with such sincerity. He apologized like it was his job. And it was. She decided she had to get up. With her eyes still closed, she began to push herself up, her arms shaking. She heard the voice exhale and sigh in relief again, helping her up.

"Allison, are you okay? Do you think you have a concussion," the voice asked again, the volume of his voice raised as though she had lost some of her hearing.

She shook her head and opened her eyes to find the hospital staring at her, concerned, amused, apathetic. She turned to the voice that she had collided with. She was right. It was Dr. James Wilson, Klutz and Hero. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson. And I'm sorry for…that," she said meekly.

"Please, it was my fault," he replied, gently tightening the grip he had around her waist and left arm as he felt her begin to falter. "Why don't we sit you down, okay?" He walked her over to the nearest black leather couch, guiding her as she sat. He looked to the Nurse's Station. "Where's that help?" He turned his attention back to the small woman sitting beside him. "Are you sure okay," he asked again.

"I will be," she assured, trying to smile.

He nodded. "Good, good." They sat in silence until a nurse came over to hand Wilson all the tools he needed to mend Allison's bleeding wound. He looked around the area nervously. He spotted an empty room. "Do you think you could make it to that room over there," he asked her quietly, pointing to his desired destination.

She nodded. "Of course." He helped her up and she walked to the room on her own, with Wilson right behind her, dutifully making sure she wasn't going to lose her footing. She felt safe.

When they reached the vacant room, Wilson opened the door for Allison, shut and locked it and closed the blinds. "Some privacy for you," he smiled.

She returned his smile in gratitude. She winced as he began prodding, realizing he was having trouble actually finding her wound through her chestnut hair. She held her hair for him, and he continued, applying astringent and bandages to her lower scalp. Allison was surprised that she could sit on such an uncomfortable bed in such a comfortable silence. Her first moment of true peace. Unfortunately, her head had cleared, and she was able to think about the morning's events, particularly about her friends and their untimely and tragic deaths. She felt those pesky, hot tears again and immediately looked at the ground. _Not now_, she thought.

"All right," Wilson started, "you're good to go." He tossed the bloody cotton balls, wrappers and excess bandages, and smiled at Allison, whose face had contorted into some strange kind of upset – something he had never seen, especially on her. "Are you…okay," he asked awkwardly. His comforting mannerisms were usually only for his patients, not for other doctors. And especially not House's doctors.

Allison looked up, forcing the lump in her throat to vanish. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's been one of hell of a morning, that's all."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and avoided Allison's sad blue eyes. "Do you, uh…want to talk…about it?"

"I…I'm…not sure." She went silent and wondered if she wanted to let it all out – tell Wilson what had happened, how she felt, how badly she wanted to curl into a ball and make believe she was home again. But the only thing she could do was curse. The tears she had been threatening to take out mafia-style if they fell had defied her. In an instant her tiny frame was wracked with sobs.

"Oh, god," Wilson whispered. He rushed to Allison, taking her into his arms as he sat on the bed, hoping this wouldn't feel too awkward, that he was actually helping. The two weren't exactly the best of friends. Nevertheless, he rubbed her back and let her cry for as long as she needed to. Comfort was something Wilson excelled at. "You're going to be okay," he murmured.

Allison was embarrassed. Incredibly embarrassed. She put the "ass" in embarrassed. All she had to do was control her emotions for a few minutes longer, then she could have gone to the bathroom alone and cried…alone. Thinking about it, that option didn't seem as pleasant as having somebody holding you, comforting you, making you feel safe. Yes, the latter sounded much better. But why Wilson? Why not George Clooney or Ewan McGregor? At least then she'd know her humiliation would be short lived, as she doesn't have to see either of those gorgeous men everyday. As Allison began to lift her head from Wilson's shoulder, there was a light knock at the door. "Crap," she said aloud, though the word was meant to stay in her head.

Wilson looked at her sympathetically. He peaked through the blinds. "Crap is right," he said to himself.

"Who is it," Cameron asked anxiously, getting up to grab a tissue. She noticed a change in Wilson's demeanor. His posture changed from tall and confident to slumped and goaded, his lips from a sympathetic smile to an irritated scowl. She only knew of one person who could change Wilson's demeanor so dramatically.

"House," was Wilson's quick reply. The knocking began again. "All right, look. Just…get into the bed and cover yourself the best you can."

"You're going to let him in here!?"

"No – absolutely not. I'm going to tell him to go away, but, well…you know House.

Allison nodded in agreement. "True. All right, I'll do it." She got into the lumpy well-made bed as quickly as she could. House's knock became louder and more grating by the second.

Wilson patted down his coat, opened the door and stepped outside, facing House and leaving the door the slightest bit open so Allison could listen. "What do you want?"

"Sheesh – such hostility! What were you doing in there? I thought you only masturbated in your office?"

"Funny. Anyway, I'm with a patient. Do you need something?" he replied in his best stern voice.

"Hm, 'patient?' Is that your very own euphemism for 'hooker,'" House asked crassly.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "No, you've already taken that euphemism, remember."

"Oh, you clever boy," House exclaimed. "I went to your office and you weren't there, so I made Nurse Ugly Betty over there tell me where you were hiding."

Wilson shook his head and sighed. "That's great, House. Do you _need_ anything?"

"Nah, just wanted some money for lunch," he replied nonchalantly, as if taking money from your best friend was common practice in Adult World.

Wilson reached into his pocket and grabbed a five dollar bill. He handed it to House. "Forget lunch. Go buy yourself a heart. I hear there's a sale down in the gift shop."

House grinned. "Okay, will do Cindy-Lou Who. But no roast beast for you!" House limped away, his wooden cane clacking as his headed for the elevator.

Wilson laughed and headed back inside, gently closing the door behind him and locking it, just in case. "He's awful isn't he," Wilson asked Allison amusedly. He was met with silence. "Cameron?" Still nothing. "Allison?" He crossed to the right side of the bed – she had fallen asleep. He let out a small, quiet laugh. "Good," he whispered. He pulled the blanket she had rumpled up a little higher, so that it covered her completely. He closed the blinds on the windows facing the hospital's courtyard, blocking out the bright late morning sun that was sure to greet her harshly when she awoke. He glanced at her one last time, and noticed how unbelievably peaceful she looked. Small beams of sunlight cascaded into the room, lighting her soft facial curves and shiny brown hair. Wilson felt his heart patter stronger than usual and his stomach flip-flop. He admitted to himself that she was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed.

He knew what that meant. He had to get out of there. He rushed to the door, wishing her sweet dreams and leaving her to sleep, hoping she found the quiet, peace and contentment she needed and deserved.

* * *

A/N: A little cheesy, a little dramatic, a little long. But that's the way I like it. More to come. Hell, I might even update tomorrow. 


	4. Inopportune time

A/N: I'm kind of unsure about the italicized text right at the very beginning here (and the chapter as a whole, actually), mainly because dialogue isn't my strong suit. Especially dialogue without action. But I thought it worked. You've got to use your imagination. Sort of.

Also: Michael Bublé has recently become my muse. It used to be John Mayer, then Jack Johnson, and now it's Bublé. I just felt the need to say that. Onto the fiction!

* * *

"_Ally – slow down, please!"_

"_Get the hell away from me!"_

"_Baby, please. Let me explain. I have a perfectly good-"_

"_I don't want to hear it. It's all bull shit, Kyle. This whole screwed up…__**thing**__ we have…it's bull."_

"_No, baby – come on. Listen to me."_

"_Why? You're just going to give me the same spiel you always do. She's only some girl who came onto you. Made you feel all 'manly and attractive.' You drank a whole keg and smoked a little too much pot – you can't be held responsible for your actions."_

"_All right, that might be true, but you know she meant squat to me."_

"_I'm sure. Look, Kyle, we're over. We're done. Finally. I'm not some blabbering fool you can fling around. Not anymore."_

"_Ally! Listen to me, damn it!"_

"_Let go of my arm. Now."_

"_No, not until you shut your mouth for once and listen to me."_

"_I swear to god, Kyle, if you don't let go of my arm, I will make sure you never have the opportunity to spawn children. Let go! Kyle…stop it! Get off of me…plea – get off…help! Hel-_

Forty minutes after Wilson had left the room, Allison awoke with a startle and a scream loud enough to gain the attention of a passing orderly. She heard a loud and quick pound.

"Miss, is everything okay in there? Do you need me to get you a doctor?" More pounding. "Miss, you have the door locked. Are you okay?" The orderly picked up the accompanying file next to the door. There was no patient name, only a note that told any nurse or doctor that the patient was doing well and was not to be disturbed. It was signed by Dr. James Wilson. "Sorry, miss," the orderly said guiltily.

Allison ran her hand through her currently disheveled hair, heaving a sigh in the process. She couldn't even catch a break while sleeping. She hadn't even realized she was in a hospital room until the orderly had decided that panicking was the best plan of attack. She had a sudden, vivid recollection of the events leading up to her slumber and awakening. "_Ow_," she whispered, the back of her head pounding with pain. She pushed the covers off of her body, which had begun to cool down after her…nightmare, she supposed. Gently rubbing her eyes, she got herself out of bed and stretched her arms. As she approached the door, she heard riotous laughter. "Crap," she hissed. "How am I supposed to get out of here without anybody noticing me? _Crap_." She quickly took a peak through the blinds, hoping that whoever was outside might be too preoccupied in _not_ doing their job that she might go unnoticed. There were four nurses all staring in one general direction, holding cups of lattes and laughing, their backs turned to her.

Allison furtively opened the door, leaving as little space as possible, and crept out into the hallway. She rushed past the nurses and made her way towards House's office. Thinking she was free and clear, she slowed her pace and sighed in relief.

"Dr. Cameron!" It was a feminine voice, one Allison most certainly recognized.

She stopped, her eyes widening and her heart racing out of sheer fear. She turned, trying to muster up a smile. "Dr. Cuddy," she said, feigning a cheery disposition. _Yeah, that's just what I need right now. The boss finding out that I was sleeping on the job. _"Is there something you need?"

"Yes, actually, there is. Dr. Wilson told me about your literal run-in. I wanted to make sure that you're okay."

Allison was surprised. Surprised that Wilson went to Cuddy about something so inconsequential when compared to the hundreds of cases that came into the hospital on the hour, and surprised that Cuddy actually cared. Usually all she cared about was getting the hospital more money and screwing House over in some way. "I'm feeling better, thank you," she smiled.

"Good, good," Cuddy said distractedly, nodding her head. "Look…about earlier: I'm sorry for practically accosting you the second you stepped out of the elevator. I know you've had an awful morning, which I'm sure has something to do with House, as he can turn anyone's day sour."

"He sure can," she laughed. "Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. I appreciate your concern."

"Oh, of course," she replied nonchalantly. "And, look, if you need to go home, please feel free to do so. I'll take care of House and you take of yourself, okay?"

Allison was slightly perturbed, and particularly confused. Sure, Cuddy had always been nice to her, showing concern when necessary, but she had never been _kind_. There had to be an agenda. _Since when do you think the worst of people, Allison_, her chatterbox of a mind asked. Cuddy was still standing in front of her, waiting for some kind of response. Allison smiled. "I might just do that. Thank you, Dr. Cuddy…again."

Cuddy smiled, satisfied. "You're welcome, Dr. Cameron," she replied, her voice drenched in sympathy. She smiled once more and turned away. Realizing she had something more to add, she turned back to Allison. "And, Dr. Cameron: if you ever need to talk, my door is always open. Sometimes it's easier to talk to a sympathetic female than a male."

"Um…thanks." It was all she could think of to say. The truth was that she was, at that moment, entirely perplexed. _What the hell is going on?_ "I, um…have to go talk to…Foreman. Bye, Dr. Cuddy." She swirled around and rushed out of Cuddy's sight. "How does she even know I'm having a bad morning," she asked the stale hospital air. "Who could've told her about…?" The answer hit her suddenly. "Wilson." As she made her way to Wilson's office to thank him, a nurse stopped her – she had an air of urgency surrounding her.

"Dr. Cameron! I've been looking for you for the last forty minutes," she exclaimed, obviously flustered.

Allison's cheeks took a light pink tint. "I'm sorry – it's been a hectic morning. What did you need?"

The nurse, who was breathing heavily after searching every inch of the hospital, exhaled loudly and with great relief. "There's a man here asking for you."

Allison nodded, waiting for the nurse to continue. When she didn't, Allison realized that she was expected to hold the conversation. "Did he give you his name? Tell you why he needs to see me?"

The nurse scowled at Allison's questions, annoyed that she couldn't just make the effort to go downstairs. Then again, she _is_ a doctor. "He said his name was Kevin Breen – he's a cop. You left something in his car this morning," she said, placing emphasis on the latter part of the sentence. She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Allison's blush deepened. "Right. Okay, then. I'll head down there now. Thank you." She smiled courtly and made her way to the hospital lobby. What could she have possibly left in his car? She wasn't missing anything. Then again, she hadn't paid attention to much of anything this morning. As she stepped out of the elevator, she was, yet again, met with someone who needed to speak with her: her mother.

"Oh, darling! What positively perfect timing! How are you doing?" Her mother's shrill sing-song voice was not something she wanted to hear at the moment. Or ever, really.

"I just saw you, like, an hour ago, Mom," Allison replied dumbly. Somehow, her mother always managed to bring out the most idiotic parts of her. She chalked it all up to aggravation.

"Yes, I know, darling. But things can happen within an hour, you know. And you know my thoughts on the word 'Mom,' Allison, dear."

She stared back at the woman before her blankly. "Um. _Right_. My apologies…Mother. So, you said we had 'positively perfect timing?' Did you need something, because I'm sort of bus-"

"Why, yes, darling, I did indeed," her mother enthused. "We desperately need to discuss our dinner plans for tonight. We have so little time!"

Allison rolled her eyes. She checked her watch. It was barely noon. "Mother, it's only the early afternoon, can this wait?"

Her mother unattractively scrunched her face up in blatant distaste of her daughter's words. "Well, I suppose so. But we must decide where to go before two o'clock. I need to prepare. You can call your father's mobile phone."

Allison rolled her eyes again and left her mother without a word, eyes darting all over the lobby for Kevin. She couldn't find him anywhere. "I hope he didn't leave," she said anxiously.

"He didn't," a voice announced.

Allison whipped around to find Kevin standing behind her, smiling in amusement. "Hi," she said brightly. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. I feel terrible."

He waved his hand. "No worries. It was an interesting experience. Everyone's got something wrong with them when there's a free clinic around, huh?"

"Apparently so," she laughed.

"There's this very strange doctor around here," he began, "he doesn't wear the telling white coat, and he seems to be…very…what's the word?"

"Very much an ass?" She knew he was speaking of House.

Kevin looked at Allison in surprise. "Well, I suppose so. I was going to say abrasive and actually very sad, but…if 'ass' works for you…."

Allison looked down. "He walks with a cane, right?" Kevin nodded. "Yeah, that's my boss."

He snickered. "_He's_ your boss? Interesting." He studied her features, attempting to read her.

She grimaced. "Unfortunately. So, you had something to bring me?"

Kevin nodded. "Yes, I do." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sterling silver chain. Dangling from it was a white gold band with a small diamond placed carefully in the middle. To the left and right of the diamond were elegant engravings that spread around the ring. They looked like the wings of a dove.

Allison put her hand to her heart and gasped lightly. She looked down at it with wonder. "I…I didn't realize that had slipped out of my bag. Usually it's…it stays tucked in the zippered section. I didn't even…." She looked up at Kevin and smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you…for bringing it back to me."

Kevin, who noticed an immediate change in Allison's demeanor, handed her the necklace, taking in its simple beauty and whatever significance it held to the kind woman it belonged to. She gently took it from him. "You're very welcome, Dr. Cameron."

Allison looked down at the valuable piece of jewelry in her hand and smiled nostalgically. The memories it held, though only created through a short amount of time, were precious and irreplaceable. Though the necklace wasn't needed to remind her of the past, it always brought her peace to have something tangible. She looked back up at Kevin, tears stinging her eyes. "You know you can call me Allison."

Kevin's eyes and smile were sympathetic, warm and caring. "Yes, you mentioned that earlier." He fiddled around with his watch and furrowed his brow. She wondered what he was thinking. "Hey, I was actually wondering if perhaps, you know…later we could, uh…I mean, you don't have to if you think this is too forward, but I thought…it might be a good idea if...ugh, screw it. Would you like to get coffee with me tonight?" He sighed at his inability to ask such a simple question. His stomach was tied in knots as he awaited Allison's response. He never was good at this.

Allison bit her lip amusedly. He seemed so nervous and…cute. "I'd like that."

Kevin's eyes lit up a wide grin took up half of his face. "Great! Let's see, my shift officially ends at 6:30, but I'm sure they'll keep me an extra forty minutes. So…how's 8:00 sound?"

She grinned. "8:00 sounds…great," she uttered, shaking her head at her own cheesiness.

Kevin felt the tension that had built up in his body melt away. "Great – I'll see you then!" He began to rush out of the lobby, suddenly nervous. He hadn't had a date in two years. And he had a very bad history with first dates.

"Kevin," Allison called. He turned around to find her walking toward him. "Where are we going?"

He laughed and nodded his head. "Oh, right, that petty little detail. Well, there's this quaint café right near my precinct. It's called Small World Caf…." He trailed off after seeing her dramatic eyebrow raise and small snicker. "What?"

"I'm sorry, but, 'quaint,'" she questioned, the ends of her mouth turned up into both a smile and a smirk.

"Well…that's how everyone else I know describes it. I just picked it up, I guess." He shrugged, embarrassed.

"Well, I think it's a _charming_ word. And that place sounds great to me," she assured him. "Would you like me to meet you there?"

"If it's not too much trouble." His reddened cheeks faded.

"Not at all." Her eyes inadvertently darted toward the clinic doors, and she saw House walking out of an exam room, no doubt complaining about the human race. "I've actually got to head back upstairs – lots of work to be done. I'll see you at eight," she said, waving to him as she quickly backed away, hoping House hadn't seen her. The instant Kevin's back was turned she walked as quickly as she could to the elevators. As the doors opened, she smiled to herself. "I think I have a date," she said quietly, giggling as she walked in. The doors closed and sent her back to work – back to reality.

* * *

A/N: I have no idea if the Small World Café is actually near a police precinct. I doubt it is, since I don't know Jersey all that well. Now ask me about Long Island, New York and its boroughs, and you've got all the answers. I'm a native, what do you expect?


	5. Nature always sides with the hidden flaw

A/N: I just realized that I never put a disclaimer up. So, here's my big, fat legal disclaimer: I don't own _House_. I don't even write for _House_. I just watch it. Don't punish me. I'm a poor, struggling college student. It wouldn't be just. Thanks so much!

I also realized I never really set a time frame for this story. It's not _exactly _canon, but it's not too far off; it takes place after Cameron ended the sexcapades with Chase. Almost directly after. So it's kind of AU, kind of not.

Yet another note: House may seem a little OOC here. I thought the momentary change was necessary for the slight development of a few characters.

* * *

As Allison rode the elevator, she mentally tried on her entire wardrobe and various hairstyles. It had been a while since she had been on a real date. Sure, there was House, but that was just…she still didn't quite understand what that was. And then there was Chase, though they had never been on dates. There was just _really_ good sex that unfortunately had to end. "Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least," she mused. As the elevator stopped, her pager went off. It read, "We need Apple to save a life," in bold letters. She groaned, stepping off the elevator and heading toward the Diagnostic Unit. She pushed the doors open and House got up from his chair, offering it to her and heading towards the kitchen area.

"I've been trying to reach you for the last hour," he said authoritatively.

"Sorry, I was at the clinic. A patient specifically asked for me," she lied, taking the seat House had vacated.

House eyed her suspiciously. "Right." He poured some coffee into his usual mug and sipped it. "We had a case – could've used you."

Allison clenched in panic. "Did the patient…are they...alive?"

House grinned smugly. "Yeah, she's alive. Just barely, though. One of the quickest cases we've ever had, actually."

She stared at the carpet. "I'm sorry, House." She looked up at him. "But I'm glad she made it – that you guys were fine without me." She furrowed her brow in thought, playing with the edges of her charcoal vest. Would they really be better off without her? Maybe she added too much tension, what with her romantic history with both House and Chase, and her rocky "friendship" with Foreman.

"You're right. We were fine without you." He watched for a reaction, but there was nothing to see. "_However_, it was an easy case. And with you, we could have figured it out in less than twenty minutes. That's why we need you here."

Allison whipped her head up. He was joking, being cruel – being House. Any second he was going to burst into laughter in mockery of her naïveté. When he didn't, she finally spoke, surprise evident in her voice. "House, I…thank you. I thought you couldn't stand me, as a person and a doctor."

He sighed and stared into his coffee, the strong aroma and deep black swirls capturing his attention for a second. "Look, I'm only going to say this once. So either listen carefully or grab a tape recorder if you ever need to blackmail me – which I'm sure, given my history, you will."

She looked up at him, both very intrigued and very confused. "Go ahead," she said quietly.

He picked his head up and steadied his gaze in her direction. "You're insanely emotional. You become offended and indignant to easily; you're defensive and too sensitive. You care too much about your patients and practically the entire world, including animals, and it tends to cloud your judgment. You're nauseatingly kind and generous and you have a moral compass that would drive any wrong-doer off a cliff. You smile too often and frown too little. You somehow always manage to find the good in a person, even if nobody else can. You're practically raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens." He hesitated. "What I'm trying to say is that those traits may not make you a brilliant doctor, but they make you a damn good person. And 'good person' will always trump 'good doctor,' no matter how you look at it." He exhaled, unsure if his words made much sense. Allison opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly silenced her.

"I'm not done." He put his mug down on the counter and walked to the dry-erase board, facing her directly. "You're smart – you know that. You're hard working, knowledgeable and continuously trying to better yourself in your specialty and others – always willing to learn. You make mistakes, but you know how to fix them. You know when to tip-toe around a patient's imminent death and be a 'friend,' but you know when to be forceful and superior. You've become level-headed enough to make wise medical decisions that aren't based solely on your own morals and ethics – you've proved that earlier this year. You're a _good_ doctor, Cam…_Allison_ – a very good doctor. And I respect you immensely."

He stared at her, yet again waiting for any kind of response. She seemed fixated on her fingernails, so he couldn't see the expression on her face, if there was one. "I'm done, now, if you want to say something."

Allison looked up at the anomaly of a man standing unevenly before her, vision blurred by the ever-present tears that seemed to be threatening her all day long. She had a million different thoughts swimming around in her head, all telling her to say and do a million different things. She settled on one pertinent question. "Is this your new form of cruelty? 'Kill 'em with kindness?'" He said nothing, only stared at her with a small mix of hurt and embarrassment gleaming in his wide, circular light blue eyes.

"Yeah, you caught me. I told you I respected you as some sadistic way of firing you. Inflate your ego a little bit, then send you crashing down to the ground. I'm a real bastard."

She let out an exasperated sigh, though she was frustrated with herself, not House. "I just – I mean you've never…I don't how to respond to all of that, House. You never tell anyone that you respect them – not even Wilson – let alone make speeches highlighting all the good points in their personalities."

"That's because I don't respect Wilson. He's a lying, cheating, rotten manwhore," House replied, his tone gravely serious, his nature light and facetious. He couldn't deal with the seriousness of the situation he had put himself in.

Despite herself, Allison let out a small laugh. She stood up from her chair and walked closer to him. "Thank you, Dr. House," she said, extending her right arm and hand to him.

He took her hand and shook it firmly. "You're welcome, Dr. Cameron."

They smiled at each other for a moment, appreciating the fact that they could shake hands and feel no romantic or sexual tension, no contempt, just respect and admiration for one another. It was something rare for both of them, and they welcomed it without question. They released each other's hand, standing in silence until Allison finally realized that Chase and Foreman weren't in the room.

"Where are Chase and Foreman," she questioned.

"Doing my clinic hours," House answered simply.

"It takes two specialized doctors to do your clinic hours," she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They're not doing it at the same time. Well, technically they are, but that's not what the book is going to say," he replied, a wily grin spreading across his face.

Allison rolled her eyes and laughed. "You're incorrigible, House." She looked at her watch. Quarter to one. She needed to go home – she could feel her eyes drooping from exhaustion. "Look, I spoke with Cuddy just before you paged me. She told me to take some sick time."

House gave her a questioning look. "Why would she do that?"

"Because I'm having a crappy day and am running on about two hours sleep, if that – and that's me oversleeping. I'm also assuming Wilson must have told her about what happened earlier."

House nodded knowingly. "About your collision?" She nodded. "Told me to lay off, treat you better, all that preachy crap oncologists do."

Allison was a little bit shocked, a little bit touched. "Oh," was all she could muster.

"Yeah," House replied uncomfortably.

"So is that the reason for that whole big speech? Did you actually mean any of it," she asked quietly, her mind scolding her for even considering that House had a sincere bone in his body.

House smiled at her. Not a phony, arrogant, condescending smile; it was genuine. A genuine Gregory House smile – hard to come by in this day and age. "No. I meant it. Wilson may have triggered it, but I've always felt that way. Even when you wanted me to call me your baby's daddy."

Allison groaned at his jocularity. But that was House. He could never be completely serious. "Thank you…again."

"You're welcome…_again_." He shifted his cane left and right while it was still firmly planted on the floor. "You better go home. I might be inclined to change my mind and take back everything I just said to you. I do that, you know."

She smiled. "I do." She walked over to the coat rack and grabbed her things. "If you need me, call me," she said, her tone business-like.

He nodded. "Of course."

"Have a good day, Dr. House," she said softly, smiling warmly at him, her gaze respectful and kind. She had seen a sliver of the real House. He wasn't the miserable misanthrope she had worked with for over three years. He was…human.

"You, too, Dr. Cameron. Get some rest. You deserve it." He returned her smile, understanding her gaze and shifting uncomfortably at the aura of romanticism the young doctor always seemed to have surrounding her. It was incredibly bothersome, but she wouldn't be Allison Cameron without it.

* * *

A/N: Funny thing about this chapter. (When I say "funny" I don't actually mean "funny." I mean…something entirely different.) I was bouncing back and forth with the idea of House being a jerk and making Cameron's life hell, or actually being nice (for House, anyway) and making it easier. Then a kind reviewer brought to my attention that House did seem a little mean. And then I knew which option to go with. 


	6. Things tend to go from bad to worse

A/N: Yes, two updates in one night. Spiffy, huh?

I rewrote this chapter so many times. At one point I thought about getting rid of it, but I liked the idea too much. So I continued. And nearly went absolutely bonkers because of it. I bring you the final draft. It's a little bit dramatic, a little bit cheesy. You know, what the world is made of.

* * *

As Allison made her way to the hospital's parking lot, she grabbed her keys from her bag and headed toward her usual spot. Once she got there, the spot was occupied by a car that was most certainly not hers. She suddenly remembered that she didn't drive to the hospital that morning – Kevin had been kind enough to give her a lift. "Crap," she yelled loudly, her voice echoing throughout the long, wide lot. She spun around in a circle, looking for someone she knew that could potentially give her a ride home. 

"Dr. Cameron," she heard a voice call, "Are you all right?"

It was none other than Dr. James Wilson, who seemed to always manage to find Allison at the right time. That time being whenever she needed help. "No. I'm going insane. Terribly insane. Care to admit me to the Psych Ward?"

Wilson laughed, though he knew she was probably the tiniest bit serious. "I'd love to, but I'm going on lunch right now. Perhaps when I get back?"

Allison heaved a loud, sarcastic. "Oh, fine, I guess it can wait."

Wilson changed his tone. "Are you, though? All right, I mean."

Allison shook her head. "Well, I'm feeling better, thanks to you. And Cuddy's actually letting me go home early." She gave Wilson the opportunity to confess, but he merely stood in front of her, waiting for her to speak again. "I, uh…forgot that I didn't drive to work today. I got a ride from somebody after…" She didn't feel like talking about this morning's events. "Well, in any case, I got a ride, and now I don't have a way to get home."

Wilson smiled. Cuddy had listened to him. "Well, I'll gladly give you a ride if you'd like."

"That wouldn't be a terrible imposition? I mean, you've done so much for me today as it is." Allison had to admire Wilson for his attentiveness. He had enough to deal with – what with all his job entails, plus his friendship with House, which was a job in itself.

"Of course I don't mind. I wouldn't have offered if I did." She smiled at him with gratitude, and if he were a romantic, he'd say that his heart skipped a beat...or something like that. He smiled back at her awkwardly, suddenly aware of the predicament in which he had placed himself. He felt he had to say something to ease his growing discomfort. He cleared his throat. "Well, uh…my car is this way, so, uh…let's go, then." He winced at his near incoherence and gestured to a new, steel blue Jeep Grand Cherokee parked only a few spots away. He had just purchased it a month ago, as his ex-wife had taken his Volvo. He never really liked that car, anyway, and he had always wanted a Jeep. It worked out well for him.

Allison was surprised at Wilson's choice of vehicle. "Interesting," she began, "I never would've pegged you for a Jeep kind of guy."

Wilson laughed. "Most don't. I've always liked Jeeps, though." He beat her to the passenger door, opening it for her and smiling warmly. She stared at him peculiarly, her lips twisting into a lopsided smirk. Her glare made him self-conscious, and he desperately wondered what she was thinking.

"I don't…huh." Allison was thrown. Who knew that there was a man alive that opened a door for a woman? "I can't remember the last time somebody has opened any sort of door for me." She laughed quietly to herself. "Thank you," she said sweetly. She stepped into the Jeep, happy to know that she would be going home. Of course, she had to call her parents before two o'clock, or she'd have to face her mother's wrath. That was something she knew she couldn't deal with at the moment.

As Wilson gently closed the passenger door, he exhaled loudly and with great relief. He couldn't grasp idea that, in maybe a little more than an hour, he had gone from acknowledging Cameron as a friendly face and an esteemed colleague, to…he didn't even have a label for what he was feeling right now, let alone having the ability to comprehend how the hell he managed to let it happen. This was certainly going to be an interesting car ride. "All right. I'm going to need directions."

Allison smirked. "Well, first you put on your seatbelt. It's the law, you know! Then you start the car."

Wilson turned to look at her, an expression of humor and surprise taking hold of his face. "Since when are you a smartass," he asked her amusedly.

"Since I found out you're not a superhero." She instinctively put her head down, embarrassed that she had said that aloud.

Wilson had turned the car on, but temporarily forgot how to drive. He didn't know what to say the Cameron's remark. Instead, he stayed quiet and focused on remembering how to back out of a parking space. When he successfully found his way out of the lot, he decided to ask her about what she was talking about.

"I, um…what did you mean by that? And which way am I turning?"

Allison, who had been silently hoping Wilson wouldn't ask _that_ question, decided to play innocent. "What did I mean by…what? And make a right."

He obliged. "You know…the 'superhero' comment. I don't get that." He kept his gaze fixed in the road.

Allison sighed. It was so stupid of her to make remark. She knew it would warrant a few questions, and she didn't want to answer them. But she was stuck. "When I first met you, I thought it was amazing – what you do, I mean. And everybody says it. You tell somebody that they're dying, and they _thank _you. You have such a gift – both in medicine and in life – with people. I admired that from the start. And then I saw you with House. My immediate reaction was that you should have been nominated for sainthood. As I observed you, I always thought you were invincible. You seemed to be…so…non-human. There were times where I felt too inferior to be in the same room as you."

Wilson continued to drive, but had the sudden urge to pull over and cry. No one had ever said anything like that to him. Well, House had. And his ex-wives had. But that was always in anger. This was completely unprovoked.

Allison saw the hurt on his face and mentally scolded herself. She couldn't get anything right today. "Wait. That's not what I meant." She inhaled sharply. "I didn't mean that you had a superior or apathetic way about you. I just meant…you seemed so…incapable of error, so…" She stopped to find the word she was searching for. "You seemed so perfect."

Wilson laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the word. "Perfect? I'm the furthest thing from perfect."

Allison nodded. "And I know that, now. I realized that when you gave up House to Tritter. And though I understand why you did that, it was your reaction to the situation, and all the events that occurred after it all had ended…I saw that you were human. And I felt…I felt more comfortable with you. More apt to talk to you." She laughed at herself. "I sound so moronic. I'm sorry if I'm not making sense. It's been that kind of day so far."

Wilson nodded and smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He wasn't sure what she was trying to say _exactly_, but he got the basic idea.

She realized Wilson was about to pass a turn. "Make a left here," she said tiredly. She just wanted to get home. She had just made an idiot out of herself in front of a man she very much respected. She wanted to hide, to lock herself away from all the clutter and noise of the outside world. "Another left." She barely even felt the car turn. "Make a right." He turned right into her apartment complex. She looked out the window and saw that several police cars were still parked in front of the parking garage, though the nosy reporters seemed to have left. She sighed in aggravation.

Wilson was intrigued by the presence of the police. "What happened here," he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

Allison gulped and looked down at her hands, intertwining them together. "Um…early this morning, two of my neighbors were…" She stopped to clear her throat. "Murdered." Her voice was quiet and unsteady.

Wilson, pulling into a visitor spot, put the car in park and turned his head to look at the young woman sitting beside him. "Were they friends of yours," he asked softly. He didn't want to pry, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. Or going to be, at least.

She nodded sadly. "Yes, they were." She unclenched her hands, resting them on both of her legs.

Wilson frowned and nodded understandingly. "I'm so sorry, Allison," he said, taking hold of her left hand – something that probably crossed all sorts of lines, but he didn't care.

Allison looked down at her hand in surprise, then slowly brought her head up to look at Wilson, who's eyes held an odd combination of sympathy, dread, relief and something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Wilson's hand was warm and soft, his grip firm and comforting. She smiled at him, tears lining her eyes, making them shine in the warm afternoon sun. "Thank you," she whispered.

They stared at each other in a pleasant silence, their hands intertwined, until they were startled by a tapping on the car window. A police officer stood at Wilson's Jeep, his dull grey eyes watching them disapprovingly. Wilson rolled down his window. "Can I help you, officer?"

"Yeah, you need to leave the grounds. We've got business to take care of here." The cop scowled at them. His face was wrinkled and his features were hardened – he looked permanently angry.

"Oh, I'm just dropping her off. I'll be gone in a minute," Wilson said curtly. He didn't want any kind of trouble with another cop.

The cop rolled his eyes. "That's nice, but I'm afraid no one is allowed in that building right now. So you're gonna have to leave."

Allison looked at the cop incredulously. "You're telling I'm not allowed in my own apartment?"

The cop shrugged. He seemed bored. "We're investigating the entire building. We want to see if anything can lead us to the murderers. I'm assuming you know about the murders?" His voice was flat and gravely.

Allison sighed and nodded, her exasperation increasing by the second. "This is unbelievable."

The cop sighed. "Yeah, sure it is. Look, if you two could quit your hand-holding, I'm sure you could be on your way to a comfy hotel room." He smirked smugly. Allison noted that he looked like a Tritter reincarnate, which was enough to make her dislike him.

Wilson looked down at his right hand and detached it from Allison's immediately, a deep crimson red painting his face and neck. He stammered out something incoherent, and Allison had to suppress a slight snicker. He was very…cute when embarrassed. _Interesting_. She sighed and looked at the cop with derision. "Thank you for your time, officer." Her voice was saccharine, masking her agitation.

"No problem," he replied, a twinge of amusement breaking through his otherwise lifeless voice. He walked away from the car and headed back toward the parking garage.

"Well, this is just wonderful," Allison said sarcastically. She let her eyes wander to the police sight, hoping to find Kevin. _Maybe he can help me out somehow_. If he was there, she couldn't see him.

Wilson, who had been completely unaware that time, in fact, hadn't stopped, was brought back to reality when Allison had spoken. He noticed that the cop had left and that Allison was looking out the passenger window, a despondent and troubled expression riddling her porcelain features. "Allison," he beckoned softly. She snapped her around to look at him, her expression questioning. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

She nodded. "I need my car. And my apartment. And this day to end." Her anger and irritation were becoming too much to handle, but she suppressed the urge to take her bag and throw out the window.

Wilson looked around his car uncomfortably. His normally spacious Jeep seemed to be growing smaller and smaller by the instant. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out exactly what was on his mind. "Would you like to go to lunch with me?" The unusual look Allison gave him made him completely regret the question he had just asked. "I mean, you can't eat at your apartment, and you still can't get to your car, so I just figured, you know, it might be easier if we just…went. Together." _Real smooth, Dr. Wilson_.

"I'd like that," she responded, her mood temporarily lifted.

Wilson grinned like an idiot and pulled away from Allison's apartment complex, heading toward his usual dining location.

Allison exhaled quietly, relieved that she might be able to find some quiet normalcy. She wanted nothing more than to take a nap in her impossibly comfortable bed, but considering she was banned from her own apartment, lunch with Wilson seemed to be a nice alternative. She just hoped her day would get better. There wasn't much else that could go wrong.

* * *

A/N: Let me just say that, though it seems like it, I might not be going the Cameron/Wilson route. I'm playing around, trying to give them chemistry, figuring out what works and what doesn't. I'll see how I feel about the way the story's heading. For now, I'll only say that, despite my previous comment, there may be no definite romantic pairing, just some hints and illusions. Or you may get nothing at all after this. We'll see how my mood swings and jives. 


	7. Ninety percent of everything is crud

A/N: Please accept my deepest apologies for the unintended hiatus. I couldn't get out of this weird, what I like to call, _"idk my bff jill"_ mentality – where everything I wrote came out so colloquial and juvenile. I wasn't happy with anything I was writing. Actually, I'm still not, but this is much better than what I had previously written. Plus, classes just started up again, so I had to prepare myself for those extraordinarily fun times. Anywho, an update is here, now. Hopefully I've still got some readers. And hopefully they'll like this, too.

* * *

Allison and Wilson we're having a thoroughly enjoyable, albeit quiet and slightly awkward, lunch. It was filled with small talk and formalities. They didn't touch upon anything more personal than, "What's your favorite movie and why?" Wilson's favorite movie was the Hitchcock classic _Vertigo_, which Allison had expected, since the poster was hanging on his wall. Allison's favorite movie was _West Side Story_, with its sweeping story, romance and thrilling and touching music. 

"Why not _Casablanca_," Wilson had asked her curiously, considering her tendency to love all things romantic – although _West Side Story_ was a great choice.

Her reply was simple and easy. "The ending. There's no reason for Bergman not go off with Bogart. It makes no sense romantically."

Wilson had smiled at her and nodded. That was the answer he had expected. "All of a sudden I feel like we're Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan in _When Harry Met Sally_," had laughed.

Allison had laughed, too. "Don't worry. No fake orgasms today." She had smirked and forked a few pieces of lettuce from her Asian salad.

She was too busy with her salad to notice that Wilson had started to blush wildly, unable to stop his mind from wandering. He had taken a large bite of his chicken BLT, giving himself a reason not to speak for a bit.

They finally finished their lunch just as their waitress was approaching them. "How was everything?" They nodded approvingly. "Very good! Can I interest you in a small dessert or coffee? Our raspberry mocha latté is delicious." The waitress gave them a sweet smile.

Allison smiled back at her sympathetically. She was a waitress during her college years, always trying her hardest for a good tip. She looked to Wilson and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"If you'd like something," he said cheerily.

She nodded at him and turned her head to the waitress. "I'll have that latté you mentioned, please."

The waitress scribbled Allison's order down quickly and looked at Wilson. "Anything for you, sir?"

"The same, please." She smiled at the two of them curtly and headed toward the back of the restaurant.

Allison let out a slight giggle. "The same, huh? Again, I'd never peg you for a 'raspberry mocha' man."

"What can I say," he began, "I like the finer things in life." He glanced at his watch and saw that his hour lunch was almost up, though no part of him wanted to go back to work. He was enjoying his time with Cameron – getting to know her a little better, finding out that she was what she always seemed. She could hold a conversation easily, which was something his wives could never do very well.

"You have time for coffee," Allison asked, breaking Wilson's train of thought.

He nodded. "Of course. There's always time for coffee."

She bit her lip. "Are you sure? I don't want to get you in trouble or anything, though I doubt Cuddy would say anything to you. You don't have any appoint-"

"Cameron – it's fine. I'm sure. Unless _you_ don't want to stay." God, he hoped that wasn't it.

She looked down, a little embarrassed. She did want to stay. "No, I do. I definitely do."

"Then it's settled: we're staying and enjoying the lattés heading our way right…now."

Just as he uttered the last word, their waitress walked up to the table, still smiling and still cheery. "Here you go, guys. Two lattés – our finest." She placed the mugs on the table carefully. Spilling piping hot coffee all over your customers never was good for business.

"Thank you," the two doctors said in unison.

The waitress smiled at them and placed to napkins on the table. "Anything else," she asked.

"Just the check, please," Wilson asked kindly.

"Coming right up, sir." She turned on her heels and walked over the register to prepare the bill.

Allison picked up the coffee mug gingerly, blowing on hot liquid slowly. She sipped it and closed her eyes. "Mm," she began, "this _is_ delicious."

Wilson watched her lips in shock. _Oh, god. This is not good_, he thought. He felt as though he had been reduced to a shell of the usually mature, composed Dr. James Wilson. He was a teenage boy, now, mooning over the girl he knew he could and should never have. He was the geek, she was the cheerleader.

Twenty minutes later, after five minutes of awkward silence, ten minutes of hospital talk, and five minutes of bickering over who would pay the bill (Wilson won that battle), the two companions made their way out of the restaurant.

"What are you going to do," Wilson asked, voice deep with concern.

Allison frowned. She hadn't thought about that. "I…don't know. I mean, I'm supposed to be taking sick time right now, but I guess I could go back to the hospital. House probably needs me to do his clinic hours."

Wilson chuckled. "I'm sure he'd love that." They stood by Wilson's car awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do.

Allison suddenly realized the time. After two o'clock. "Oh, crap!"

Wilson, who had been performing a thorough examination of his dress shoes and pant leg seams, shot his head up urgently. "What? What's wrong?"

Allison waved her hand. "Nothing, nothing. I just forgot to call my mother and confirm our dinner plans. She's going to flip out."

Wilson bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh. She sounded as though she were sixteen years old. "You can do that now, if you'd like."

"You don't mind?"

"Not at all. I'll just hang out in the car, catch up on some reading, try to avoid any flying objects that may head my way out of anger." He smirked.

"You're funny," she replied sarcastically, though there was amusement in her voice. She grabbed her phone from her bag and flipped it open. She held her finger on the number "3," which was her father's speed dial. She tapped her foot impatiently as she listened to the ringback tone.

"Hello," a confused and muffled voice asked.

"Dad! Hi! It's Ally," she said loudly. She knew her father wasn't very good with anything technological. He still used a typewriter – and it wasn't even mechanical.

"Oh, hello, sweetie! How are you?" He was screaming, and she had to hide her amusement.

"I'm…okay. Look, Mom wanted me to call to confirm our plans earlier, but there was so much going on. Where were you guys looking to eat?"

"Oh. Hm. Well, you know what? I'm not sure, really. It was up to either you or your mother. Let me ask her. Beatrice," he yelled, "where would you like to eat for dinner?"

Allison merely shook her head as she heard her mother call back faintly. She couldn't make out what she was saying, but Allison was sure that she was using the words, "darling," "lovely" and "exquisite."

"Ally," her father began, "are you still there?"

"Of course, Dad."

"Good. Your mother said she was 'absolutely dying' to go to Mediterra. Apparently it comes highly recommended."

Allison laughed at her dad's subtle mockery of her mother's voice. Naturally, he did it very well. Almost frighteningly well. "Oh, I've been there before – it's a great place."

She remembered going there with Chase and Foreman a few times.

"Wonderful. Do you think we need a reservation?"

"You know, I'm not too sure. We might. I've got their number somewhere in my bag – I'll give them a call and make a reservation for some time around five. You guys like eating early, anyway. Is that all right?"

"Oh, that's great, Apple! Thank you. You're the best."

She could hear his smile through her small, thin magenta phone. "You're welcome, Dad. I'll see you soon."

"Love you!"

"Love you too, Dad!" She flicked the phone closed and threw it in her bag. Sighing, she opened the door to Wilson's Jeep and sat in the passenger's seat.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her and putting down the book he was reading.

"Hi." She stared out the windshield, contemplating whether or not she actually wanted to have dinner with her parents. She was completely exhausted, and just wanted to relax with somebody who didn't make her feel inadequate at every moment possible.

Wilson was watching her intently, studying her porcelain features. He saw them twist and contort until they settled on a combination of exhaustion, dread and sheer unhappiness. Every bone in his body wanted to take her hand and give her comfort; his muscles ached to hold her and wash away any pain she undeservedly felt. "Cameron, do you need to talk," he finally asked. He decided that it was the better question. Definitely better than, "Do you need me to hold you, stroke your hair and tell you that everything is going to be okay?"

She looked up at him, blue eyes faded from exhaustion and grief. "I just…I need to relax. Lunch just now was great, but I need my couch and my own coffee and a good book to read."

He grimaced. He couldn't give her that. But, perhaps, he could give her _something_. "Look," he started, earning her attentive smile, "why don't you borrow my hotel room for now? It's not home, but it's something – better than a hospital bed, that's for sure."

Allison was taken aback by the offer, unsure of whether or not it was a good idea. Hadn't she imposed on him long enough? "Dr. Wilson, I-"

"James," he interrupted. "Please. Call me James. We're co-workers, Cameron," he said flatly, hating that it was true – that all they were to each other were co-workers, barely acquaintances.

"Well, then. If we're such good co-workers, why don't you call me Allison more often?" She elbowed his arm lightly and smiled.

"I might just do that. Allison," he said, adding a light-hearted emphasis to her first name.

"Good. Good…look, you've showed me much more kindness than I deserve, really. I would feel awful using your room. And, besides, wouldn't that get you in some sort of trouble with the management?"

Wilson shook his head. "Absolutely not. They love me there – I tip well. And you haven't been an imposition, Allison. You've been quite the opposite, actually. I offered, and I meant it. If you'd like somewhere comfortable to relax, please let me know. The hotel isn't very far from here."

Allison sat in the all-too-comfortable passenger seat in thought. "Well…okay. I'll take you up on that offer." She gave him a coy smile.

"Great! I'm glad. Let's get going, then, shall we?" He buckled his seatbelt, starting the car only after she had buckled hers. And in a flash, they were off, James glad to be doing something right – something entirely helpful, and Allison glad that she might find some peace of mind – some calm and rest before her very long evening.

* * *

Allison awoke drenched completely in sweat. She felt her heart pounding and her pulse racing. She had had _that_ dream, again. She stared perplexedly at her surroundings. Dim lighting, a lumpy bed, ecru walls and a red-patterned comforter that encased her quite coldly. Suddenly she realized where she was: Wilson's…James' hotel room. She glanced at the clock. "Crap," she screamed. It was four o'clock and she was set to meet her parents in a little over an hour. And in her work clothes, no less. She threw the covers off of her overheated body and headed toward the bathroom. 

"Oh, wonderful. I look like Bloody freaking Mary." She sighed angrily and splashed some water on her face. Sighing again, she dried her face off and hoped James had some kind of hair tools – even just a comb would do. She poked around the room and found a plethora of hair care products – expensive shampoo and conditioner, an ionic hairdryer, hairspray, hair mousse, and three different kinds of brushes. It seemed impossible that he was the only person residing in the room. And yet, it didn't surprise her that James could be a high-maintenance kind of guy. He was always neat and put together. He seemed so completely infallible to her. As she giggled at the thought of James fighting a pesky little cowlick with his stylish, up-scale hair tools, she grabbed a brush and a can of hairspray, hoping to make the best of her messy, matted mane.

Twenty minutes later, after much anguish and struggle, Allison was quite pleased with her hair – she had managed to sweep it up into a lovely, albeit a little bit messy, French braid. She examined herself in the mirror again, groaning in distaste at her work clothes. She decided the best she could was to remove her vest, revealing a lavender shirt with small and feminine ruffles. She wasn't sure why she had actually bought it – she preferred deeper, richer colors, but something about it appealed to her. Much to her delight, it worked very well with the charcoal pants she was wearing, and she agreed with her appearance – she looked fresh and rested. The complete opposite of how she looked (and felt) only a few hours prior.

Noticing the clock, she knew she had to call her father to let him know she might be a bit late for dinner. Ten minutes, the latest. There was bound to be traffic and she knew – "Oh, crap," she yelled for what seemed like the umpteenth time, breaking away from her thoughts. "I don't have a car. I have no way to get there. Other than walking or taking the bus, of course. And the bus won't actually take me there and – shut up, Allison," she scolded. "Calm down. You're stressing yourself out over nothing." Talking to herself was a habit she could never break, no matter how hard she tried. Knowing her parents would have no idea how to get to the hotel, she called the only other person she could think of.

* * *

A/N: Dinner with the parents and date with the cute police officer to follow. _Finally_. 


	8. Improvement means deterioration

A/N: So nice, I did it _twice_.

I really only made this a separate chapter because I felt the other one was getting too long. Also, this is dialogue heavy. And, as we all know, I can't write dialogue for beans. Which I guess is okay, seeing as I hate beans. …anyway, I apologize if this chapter is rubbish.

* * *

"James Wilson?" He sounded bored. Busy, but bored.

"Hi, it's, um…it's Cameron," she stumbled, forgetting she had a first name.

"Who?" His tone was lighthearted and facetious.

She laughed. "Allison."

"Ah, Allison! What a wonderful surprise. How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing a little better, thank you. I got a few hours of sleep, thanks to you."

He could hear her smiling through the phone, and wished he could be there to see it. "Pleasant dreams, I hope."

"Yes, all pleasant," she lied. "Naturally." There was an awkward silence that settled between them. She was reluctant to ask for his help yet again, but her parents would never forgive her if she missed dinner. Well, her mother wouldn't, anyway. "Look, James. I hate to do this, but could I possibly ask for another favor?"

"Of course. What do you need," he asked, hating that he sounded so eager. He didn't really know what had been going on in his head all day.

"Another ride, if it's not too much trouble. I'll give you gas money if needed and-"

"Allison, it's fine. Just tell me where and when."

"Mediterra on Hulfish Street and as soon as possible. I'm meeting my parents there for dinner."

He was immediately intrigued. He would love to meet the two people who raised such a wonderful daughter. _Yeah, that'll fly well with her_. "Oh, they're visiting?"

"Mhm. Only for a few days, though," she replied, trying to stifle the joy she felt at uttering those words. 'A few days' was so much better than 'one whole week.'

"Don't sound so distraught."

Another laugh. "We have reservations for 5:15, but if you get stuck or something, I'm sure we can wait."

"Nope, I'm actually just filling out some paperwork that can be done tomorrow. Boring, colloquial stuff that I'm desperately trying to get out of doing."

"Careful, there, sir. You're starting to sound like House."

"Am I? Well, after almost ten years of friendship I suppose it's almost expected, isn't it?"

"I suppose so. Almost ten years. I'd probably throw myself out of a window."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you? So, I'll just finish up this last bit of work here and be on my way. I'll be there in no more than twenty minutes. I promise."

"Great. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Allison's savior-for-the-day was knocking on his own hotel door. _Always the gentleman._ She fixed her shirt and smoothed her hair before opening the door and throwing a flashy smile his way. "Hi."

"Hi. You look gor – very nice." He cleared his throat and stared at the floor, hoping she didn't catch his stupid, childish blunder. "Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

He peered into his room and saw that it was…neat. Clean. Everything a hotel room should be when no one is around. "You made the bed and…tidied up my mail?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Force of habit," she replied modestly, grinning.

"Interesting. Shall we?" He led her out of the door first.

She giggled. "We shall." She felt silly, giggling at James' chivalry and feeling almost giddy over it. _No wonder all the nurses love him. He's far too charming_.

After fifteen minutes of no traffic and basic, formal chatter, James pulled up to the restaurant, putting the car in park, and trying to forget that he was disappointed. It seemed he finally had to say goodbye to Allison, after spending a good portion of the day in her very pleasant company.

"Well, here we are," he said, trying to mask the disappointment in his voice.

She smiled weakly. "Here we are. Thank you," Allison said sincerely, hoping James would know how much all of his help meant to her.

"You're welcome, Allison," James replied, the sincerity in his voice rivaling Allison's. "Enjoy dinner."

"I'll try," she laughed. She stepped out of his Jeep, turning to wave goodbye. She watched him drive away until she was interrupted by a shrill, unfortunately recognizable voice.

"Oh, darling! There you are!" It was her mother, dressed up in a bright and loudly patterned wrap dress, and decorated in gaudy jewelry that did nothing but weight her shoulders down. Her hair was big, moussed and obviously dyed an odd shade of auburn.

"Mom! Hi. What are you doing out here," Allison questioned with the slightest twinge of embarrassment.

Her mother tsked. "What did we talk about, dear?"

Allison nodded. "Sorry…Mother."

"Anyway, your father sent me out here to wait for you. Why that incorrigible man couldn't just do it himself, I have no idea! Anyway, here you are, and we can go inside," her mother said, her tone harsh and words overlapping. They made their way into the restaurant, finding Allison's father waiting patiently, smiling contentedly, just as he always did.

"Look, dear, she's finally arrived," her mother exclaimed clamorously. She never could be pleasant in public.

"Mother, you were waiting for, what? Ten minutes, if that," Allison asked, her mother's overbearing manner striking every nerve in her body.

"Yes, dear, I know. But that's such a long wait when you're as famished as I am." She made some sort of dramatic face, but Allison could barely make it out under all of the make-up, facial cream and, of course, Botox.

Just as soon as she sat down, a waiter came over to the table, eager to take her order. "Are you the third party, miss," he asked curtly. She nodded. "Great. What can I get for you this evening?"

"Mm, let's see. I'll have the Penne al 'Telefono,' please." She smiled at him warmly.

"Wonderful choice. Your dinners will be here shortly."

"So, darling, who dropped you off this evening? And why couldn't I meet him," her mother asked invasively. She never could resist gossip, even if it was within her own family.

"He's just someone I work with, Mother. Another doctor. I don't know much about him, really. He's best friends with my boss and a great doctor. And you couldn't meet him because he had somewhere else to be," she said crossly.

"But he drove you here. Surely you must be close," her mother pressed on, eyes filled with disapproval and determination.

"Not really, Mother. He's just too kind for his own good, that's all. I needed help, he obliged. Nothing more." She changed the subject quickly, hoping her mother would take the hint and stop harping. "So, Dad, how was the trip here?"

He smiled at her and nodded, his subtle way of apologizing for her mother's outrageous behavior. "Very enjoyable. You know how I love to fly. I have to say, this part of Jersey is very upper-class and pleasant. And your hospital seems nice enough."

"Oh, the hospital is great. I love it." She could feel her face light up. Contrary to hospital gossip, she did go to work just to work. Not for her boss, not for her attractive co-workers, but to do her job – to do the work she loved so very much.

Her mother seemed bored. How she hated the mundane. "Oh, that's wonderful, darling. Now, back to more pressing, pertinent manners. Alexa told me that you were seeing a doctor at the hospital but recently broke up. Why is that, dear? Did you get too clingy? Were you smothering him? You do tend to do that, you know."

Allison's nostrils flared, a surefire sign that she was angry. She clenched her fists and tried her hardest not to yell at her mother; tell her that she needed to stop being so vain and facetious – to butt out of matters that didn't concern her.

Her father sensed her anger – the entire restaurant probably could. "Beatrice, I don't think Ally wants to talk about her love life tonight. Why don't we discuss something else?"

"Well, I was just trying to get involved in my daughter's life, Stephen," she said indignantly, amazed that he would scold her in such an awful manner. And in front of her daughter!

"There are other ways to do that, you know," he said pointedly.

Allison hated to see this, even if she knew that her father was in the right. "Guys, please. Why don't we just talk about the family, okay?"

"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," Stephen replied. Beatrice rolled her eyes uncaringly, scrunched up her nose and waved her hand airily in approval.

Allison smirked. "How's Adam? He never e-mails me."

"Oh, he's doing amazingly well at Northwestern. 4.0 GPA, president of all kinds of clubs. He's really fantastic. You'd be so proud of him, Ally."

She smiled at her father's pride. He always was the most supportive father, even if it took him until college to show it. "And what about you, Dad? How's chemo," she asked quietly. It was a touchy subject, naturally. One Allison never liked to think about, let alone speak about. It got her much too upset. However, she knew her dad liked to hear the concern, and even occasionally speak about it. It wasn't like he received any care from family at home.

He sighed exhaustedly. "It's…going, you know? Tiring, painful, everything it should be, I guess. I can feel a positive change, though. I really can, Al."

She tried to smile, but could only turn her lips up glumly. "That's wonderful, Dad. And the doctor I set you up with? How is she?"

He nodded. "She's…good at what she does. Very cold, however. I guess there are the two extremes, huh?"

She suddenly thought of James. How caring he was with his patients. His enduring warmth and sympathy – his undeniable gift and way with people. Two extremes for sure. "I guess so." Her father's expression said he no longer wanted to discuss his chemotherapy and cancer. She could see its effects already. She decided, probably against her better judgment, to ask her mother a "personal" question. "So, Mother, how is retired life treating you?"

"Oh, I'm so glad you asked! It's lovely, dear. Absolute heaven! I just can't get over how relaxed I am. No stress whatsoever in my life." Beatrice seemed relieved that the conversation had shifted gears toward her. Nothing made her happier than to discuss her life.

_Not even stressing over the fact that your husband has cancer? No, of course not._ "That's great, Mother. I mean, you've always wanted to get rid of a housekeeper. I guess now you're the maid, right?" She grinned, knowing just how to undermine her mother when need be.

Her mother merely rolled her eyes and 'tsked' her. "Oh, hardly! What would the world be without housekeepers? Why should I be expected to clean the bathroom and vacuum the rugs? I worked darned hard for the money I earned, they should, too."

Allison stared at Beatrice incredulously. The sad thing, she thought, was that her mother was completely serious. "I…oh, look, here comes dinner," she said, the relief and elation very much evident in her voice.

The three ate dinner in silence, stopping every so often to chat about family matters. Stephen barely let his wife talk, much to Allison's joy. When dinner ended, Allison had refused dessert, and her father refused to let her pay, the party of three headed outside, enjoying the night air and the full moon.

"So, Apple, do you need a ride back home," her father asked, noticeably concerned.

"Oh, no, I'm actually meeting a friend a little later tonight, so I'm probably going to browse some of the stores before I meet hi – them." She wasn't going to make that mistake. Letting her mother know she was meeting a member of the opposite sex was the most moronic thing she could do.

"I can't let you do that, Ally. It's not safe."

"Dad, it's Princeton, not Newark. I'm safe around here. Don't worry." She smiled reassuringly.

"That's my job, Ally. You know that."

"I do. And I appreciate the concern. But I can take care of myself. Honestly, I can kick a little ass when I have to."

He laughed. "I have every faith in you, my dear."

"Oh, Allison, I'm just dying to see your new apartment," Beatrice broke in, her thoughts taking form as spoken words. "Why don't we do brunch tomorrow?"

"I've got work, Mother," she said flatly.

"Oh, stop! I'm sure you've got hours and hours of sick time, seeing as you looks so haggardly. Honestly, darling, you work yourself far too hard – just like your father."

_Don't get angry. Don't snap. Just lie. Lie. Lie. Lie._ "I…can't. We've got a huge case right now and I can't afford to take the day off." Her father's face fell. She couldn't do that to him. "We could do lunch, though," she said brightly. "There's a nice pizzeria right by the hospital. We can meet there. I'll take an extra-long break. I promise."

Stephen smiled approvingly. "How about that, Beatty? Better?"

"I suppose so," Beatrice said, looking carelessly at her manicured fingernails.

"Tomorrow at…one o'clock. Be there or be square," Allison said cheerily, hoping to keep her father in good spirits.

"Perfect," he replied. "We'll see you then. And please leave me a voicemail when you arrive home, Al," he requested, face etched with concern and worry.

"I will, Dad. I promise."

"Good." He hugged her tightly, and she reveled in his embrace, forgetting how much she missed him.

Her mother merely blew air kisses, and Allison smiled insincerely back at her. "Goodnight, guys! Drive safely."

* * *

A/N: Was it bad? Terrible? Awful? Any potential synonym for "bad?" Don't shoot me. I'd rather not die today.

Coffee with Kevin the Cop is next.


	9. Nothing is always absolutely so

A/N: Actually, so nice I did it _thrice_. What a treat, what a treat.

* * *

As Allison walked around Witherspoon Street, she wandered into a small thrift shop which she had never seen before. She harbored a secret love for thrift shops. Her whole apartment was furnished by random thrift shops all over New Jersey – even some in New York. She just loved the feeling and rush of joy she got from taking a threadbare yellow and brown checkered armchair and turning it into something beautiful – something that seemed modern and up-scale, but was still something connected to the past. 

She perused the store slowly, stopping to look at anything she found interesting. She was amazed at how organized it was: small signs telling the customers where they could find whatever it was they were searching for. She came across what the store called "Hepburn & Hepburn: Classic Movie Memorabilia." Original movie posters and 8x10s, some props from the lesser-known films, old film reels and, she noticed, a box of seemingly genuinely autographed (and alphabetized) scripts. "Oh, I wonder if they've got _West Side Story_," she whispered. She searched the box and stopped suddenly at the letter, "V." "I can't believe it," she muttered. "This has to be phony some how – it's too coincidental."

"Not phony, miss, I promise," the sales associate announced proudly.

Allison jumped at the voice. The whole place was so quiet. "Really? So this is really his autograph? And the director's remarks? Totally genuine?"

"I swear. Honestly, I found this stuff all on eBay. Bought it for myself, then decided I really didn't have much to do with it. Thought that maybe someone could use it." The associate grinned triumphantly. Allison noted that he really did look like he spent hours upon hours on eBay each day.

"Well, I could definitely use it. How much?"

"For a pretty girl like you? Forty bucks."

Her eyes widened. Pretty cheap considering the star power involved. _And should I be flattered or insulted by that 'pretty girl' comment? Eh. Men._ "Well, then. I'll take it," she said, grinning like an idiot.

"Wonderful. Head over here, please," he exclaimed excitedly, leading her to the front desk.

Allison smiled to herself as she walked toward the café to meet Kevin. She just made a fantastic purchase for a very inexpensive price, and she finally felt good. She felt like her normal, content-with-life self. Perhaps the night would go smoothly after all.

She entered Small World Café at exactly 8:02, searching desperately for Kevin. She could feel the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, and hoped he didn't stand her up. She was looking forward to becoming better acquainted with him – hopefully making a new friend. Or maybe even something more. "Let's not get ahead of yourself here, Allison," she scolded quietly. It seemed Kevin was nowhere to be found. She decided upon getting a table anyway, though. It was early, and he could easily have gotten stuck at the precinct or in traffic. She found a table close to the window and waited patiently.

8:05…8:10…8:15…8:30…no Kevin. Allison felt silly still sitting there sipping her lukewarm latté. He obviously wasn't coming. She had been stood up. Her stomach, which had been a bundle of nerves only moments before, began to twist and pull, sending a wave of nausea through her body. She could feel a lump begin to form in her throat, and her eyes began to fill with warm, salty and always familiar tears. She was embarrassed, yes, but more than anything else she was hurt. She grabbed her things and left the café. She walked away ashamed, wiping her tears violently and hating herself for being so…so…whatever she was. Closed-off, uptight, high maintenance, boring. Whatever.

"Allison," an unfamiliar voice called. "Allison, wait!"

She turned around slowly and suspiciously. She smiled inwardly. It was Kevin, looking completely distressed and utterly embarrassed. "Hi," she said meekly, hoping she didn't look like a complete mess.

"H-hi," he stuttered. In one whole second, he managed to convey several different facial expressions: relief, upset, embarrassment and concern. He had noticed her teary eyes and reddened face. "Are you…okay?"

She laughed and sighed at the same time. "I am now. What happened?"

He looked down and shoved his hands in his pockets, his cheeks feeling all too warm. "I…I'm an idiot. And a jerk."

Allison was taken aback. "What? Why?"

"I…I got nervous. Really nervous. I had been sitting in that café since 7:30, trying to rehearse what I was going to say to you and how I was going to say it. When I saw you come in, I freaked out. I hid myself the best I could. I spent that entire hour trying to work up the nerve to even get up." He rambled, and he knew she was going to think him silly or tiresome. Or something awful like that.

Allison's eyes widened in surprise and glee. She wanted to hug him. "I'm…I don't even know what to say. Why didn't you come up to me?" _Instead of making me feel like an unlovable imbecile._

"You're…you're a doctor. And you're gorgeous – stunning, really. I'm…you're…" He stopped. "I'm not explaining myself very well, am I?"

She shook her head in amusement. "No. You're not. But I think I'm understanding you. I'm a doctor, yes, but I'm no better than you. And, please, you're a cop. Your job comes with so much obligation, risk, bravery. You're probably a hero to somebody. That's amazing, Kevin. And I…I'm not that pretty."

He scoffed. "Please, Allison, you're beautiful. Don't deny that."

She blushed. She never actually though she was beautiful. Pretty, maybe – that's all she was even allowed to admit to by her mother. Pretty. That's all she'd ever be if she were lucky. "Even if you do think that, why would that stop you from meeting me?"

"I was intimidating. Girls like you…" He stopped again, realizing he was bordering on high school territory, where the shy, quiet boy admitted his love for the head cheerleader.

She nodded and understood what he wanted to say. "Girls like me don't what? Date cops? I mean, really, how do you know it doesn't turn us on," she asked him jokingly.

He blushed wildly. "I'm just…like I said, I'm an idiot."

She smiled affectionately. "You're not an idiot, Kevin. Not at all. And, if it's not too late for you, I'd really like to have that…date." She said the last word softly, afraid to use it.

Kevin smiled back at her, relieved and content. "'Date,' huh? Well, then, let's get to it." He offered Allison his arm, and she took it happily.

As they walked back to the café, Allison noticed how handsome he looked. He was dressed in obviously pressed black slacks, and a white Oxford with a dark green sweater over it. He looked incredibly handsome. "Green looks good on you," she remarked, surprising herself and causing Kevin to blush.

"Thank you," he replied softly, not used to compliments. They were silent as they both re-entered the café, grabbing a quiet table in a corner and ordering two teas. Kevin finally got the courage to speak up. "Oh, um, you can have your apartment and car back."

Allison looked at him excitedly. "Oh, thank god! I thought I was doomed to live completely dependent upon co-workers." She laughed a little, finally amused at all that occurred during the day.

Kevin merely smiled, content that he even had the courage to ask Allison out in the first place. Sure, he was a bundle of nerves, and she was all he could think about during his shift, but he felt like that night might actually go smoothly – the way he had hoped. "So, uh, how did your day go?" He mentally rolled his eyes at his stupidity. Too late to take it back.

Allison smiled. No one actually ever asked her about her day. Except her cat. If she could talk, that is. "It was…interesting," she replied, not wanting to divulge the details.

"So, is 'interesting' a euphemism for good or bad?" He had a feeling he already knew, considering how her morning went, but it was the right thing to ask, he though.

Allison grimaced. "Bad. Awful, actually. Just…nothing went right, from the very start of my day." She sighed, afraid that somehow, considering the fact that she was created solely to be the victim of Murphy's Law, this night would go awry in the worst possible way.

Kevin looked at her, eyes pools of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Allison. Are you sure you want to be here? I mean, would you rather be home sleeping? We could go out another night?"

_Oh, god. He already hates me._ "Is my company that awful that you want to get out of this already," she asked him, hoping to sound somewhat jocular.

Kevin looked panicked. "What?! Oh, no. No. Allison, I…want to be here. Very much. I just, what I meant was…if you were tired, I…you know." He was a shade beyond the deepest red.

Allison laughed at herself for jumping to conclusions, though, for once, she most certainly couldn't blame herself. "I understand. And thank you for the offer. But I'm enjoying the present company." She grinned, hoping to move the evening along from chit-chat and nerves to conversation and comfort. She was going to make the most of the date – the night, really. She was going to be confident, collected, and maybe even cool if she tried hard enough. Kevin seemed to have calmed his nerves – he seemed more ready to talk – to learn. _Anything could happen_, she thought. And maybe anything would.

* * *

A/N: It seems so final, no? I could end it here, actually. Let you all come up with crazy scenarios for yourselves. I never actually intended this to be a long story. A few chapters, maybe – if that. I'll see where reviews and ideas can take me. 

(Oh, if this chapter seemed awkward and a bit childish, yet somehow sweet to you: congratulations! You're incredibly perceptive. Yay!)


	10. Shared pain is lessened

A/N: Was it something I said? Did? I'd emoticon sadly at everybody, but I was told emoticons are on the outs. Clearly, I want to stay in the good graces of society.

Anyway, I do apologize if the last three chapters were awful. I'm hoping that this one will go over well. And, please, don't make me beg for reviews. There's this whole deal I made with the devil about my begging – it's not a pretty sight. 

Oh, and what's going to happen to Dr. Cameron in this chapter actually happened to my sister-in-law before she met my brother. Don't worry, she knows and is fine with it being used here.

* * *

Allison Cameron had a good night, despite her wholly unpleasant morning, afternoon and evening. Officer Kevin Breen was a good man and could easily hold an intellectual conversation – when she got him to speak, that is. He was intelligent, sweet, soft-spoken and actually quite funny. They stayed at the café until it closed, hoping that, in a rare moment of kindness, the staff would allow the two to stay all night, and well into the morning – it was, after all, a fantastic date. The lone staff member told them she couldn't allow that, though – it could probably get her fired. She needed the job. Besides, she had said, wasn't it better to take such a great date somewhere a bit more…comfortable? 

And so they did. They got into Kevin's red Ford Explorer (not his usual car with red and blue flashing lights, like Allison had originally thought), and drove off to her apartment.

"So," Kevin began meekly as he pulled up alongside her complex. "Uh. See, no more cop cars, no reporters. Just your home."

Allison smiled, relieved that she could finally say she was home. She thought about Darcy, her adorable tabby kitten, and how worried she must be that Allison hadn't been able to see her at all during the day. She really did need to feed her, though the sweet thing was probably already curled up on her own pink and purple cat bed. "Yep, home sweet home." She couldn't think of anything else to say except, "Would you like to come up?"

Kevin blushed and stared at his steering wheel, examining the etchings of a horn and the word "Ford." "I, uh…I'm…you should…I don't know if it's such a good idea."

Allison was crestfallen. "Oh," she said dejectedly, not able to muster up much else.

Kevin grimaced. "It's not you – it's not. I mean, I would love to – I would. It's just…I can't."

Her brow crinkled with confusion. "You can't? Why…not?"

He continued to stare at his black steering wheel, as though he was determined to force it to move on its own. He didn't want to look at her. If he did, he knew he might lose whatever willpower he had left in him. "Allison, I can walk you to the elevator – heck, I'll walk you to your door. But I can't actually go through your door. I can just…admire it from an outside location."

She laughed softly, realizing that he was actually afraid of himself – to end their date with a true happy ending. "Kevin, you can just come up for a glass of wine."

Kevin shook his head sternly. "No. I can't drink. It's no good for me." He sighed in frustration. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, finally turning to face her. _God, she's gorgeous_. "I like you, Allison. A lot, actually. More than I thought I would. But my past, and even my present…they don't agree with me. Not right now." He looked away from her again.

She felt almost angry. "So, you're saying you can't have a relationship, I'm assuming. Why ask me out? Why spend all night with me in a 'quaint' little café, then?"

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her, studied her features. "I…I'm sorry. It's just that, well…you're wonderful. Sensational, really. I'd want nothing more than to go up with you to your apartment. Trust me. But I hope you can understand that I can't do that. Not right now. Not until…"

"Not until what? Until…?" And then it hit her. "Oh, _god_, are you…did you…you've never? Seriously," she asked him, eyes widening in shock.

He nodded, realizing that she understood what he was trying to tell her. "Yes. I'm sorry. But maybe, if you're willing, you know. We could try?"

Allison looked almost pained, though she was too shocked to really express anything else. "I – Kevin, I like you, too. I really did enjoy our date tonight. But, there are certain needs – urges that I can't ignore. I'm sorry." She looked at Kevin, sympathy emanating from her eyes and body.

Kevin nodded weakly, kissing her on the cheek, watching her slowly step out of his car, each movement graceful and elegant. She walked to the building's entrance, and turned to wave at him. A gentle breeze blew her hair around her, and she almost poetic. As he drove away, he knew he would never see such a beautiful sight again.

As Allison watched Kevin drive away, there was only one thing on her mind. "I can't believe I managed to find the only thirty year old man alive who has willingly chosen to wait until marriage. God, doesn't anyone want to have sex?" As she practically screamed the words, a familiar elderly couple strolled out of her building, looking at her peculiarly. She turned the shade of beets – maybe darker. Maybe it was crimson – she didn't know. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Rubenstein. Are you this evening?"

Mrs. Rubenstein looked none to pleased with the young doctor's outburst, but knew that she was just that – young and unknowing. "We're fine, dear, thank you. Just heading out for nightly stroll."

Allison checked her watch as they walked away. It was a little after midnight. What on earth were they doing walking around that late? She raised her eyebrows, yawned and decided she better get inside. She had been waiting for her apartment all day long, why further along any detachment? She knew she had earned the rest, the peace, and the joy she got from just walking into her home.

* * *

A/N: Short, yes, but that's what I wanted. I know the whole "man waiting for marriage" scenario seems unreal, but it actually did happen. In retrospect, my sister-in-law and I think it's a bit humorous. But I can only imagine that, while humor had its place in the situation, it was pretty unfunny when it happened. (Don't think I'm saying that male virgins are funny or anything – the situation in which the whole abstinence thing came up was funny. That's all. I don't want to offend anybody at all.) 


End file.
